Pleasure in the Usual Ways
by Nameless Grace
Summary: He caressed my face, smoothed my hair, smiled lovingly into my eyes. He whispered, "You belong in the dark with me. I am the king of the night and you are my queen." As much as he fascinated me, he made me uneasy.
1. Chapter 1

This story is based off of _Look for Me by Moonlight _by Mary Downing Hahn, but I did try to make it possible to read even if you haven't read the book. Anyways, all characters and whatnot belong to said author. This is a different ending for the book. Oh, and the summary was taken from the intro of the book. No plagiarism intended - it's not mine.

Gist of the story thus far, for anyone who wants to continue reading: Ancient Underhill Inn, now inhabited by teenager Cynda and her family, is being visited by the mysterious Vincent. Her infatuation long gone since the revelation of Vincent's true identity as a vampire, Cynda worries about her fate as well as the wellbeing of her family as Vincent becomes alarmingly more volatile. As a source of strength, Cynda looks to the ghosts of Vincent's past victims from Underhill Inn. When Vincent begins to speak of offering immortality, will Cynda be able to resist temptation?

Not a romance, unfortunately.

* * *

"_If you become mine…" _

An icy finger travels up and down my neck, stroking the two red marks that claim me as his. I roll my body away from Vincent, but his grip tightens and I am dragged back into his cold embrace. I keep my eyes closed, the thought of his black eyes aglow with triumph causing a nauseous feeling in the pit of my stomach.

Todd, my younger brother and the monster's new plaything, jumps up and down at the foot of my bed, my mattress groaning in protest. I open my eyes to watch Todd gleefully soar into the air, oblivious to the dark promises Vincent is making.

Vincent stirs next to me and whispers into my ear, "Precious Toddy, such a sweet boy. For a half-brother, you are quite devoted to him."

I want to protest, to demand Vincent leave Todd alone, but the bed suddenly shifts violently as Todd walks toward us. He lazily plops down next to me and sighs heavily.

"I want to play," Todd whines and starts poking my arm. I shift my eyes over to Vincent; his arrogant smirk makes me cold. I shudder and Vincent pulls me closer.

"Toddy," Vincent coos, "wouldn't you like to live forever with Cynda and me? Tell Cynda you would like for the three of us to live forever together. We could be the perfect family." He begins to stroke my hair.

"Cynda's no fun," Todd pouts. He angrily crosses his arms and huffs in obvious distaste.

"Don't be so mean," Vincent reprimands sternly. "Your sister has her uses." He chuckles; I feel his breath on my neck, teasing the two little marks.

Todd crawls over me and shoves Vincent in a blatant attempt to get his new hero's attention. I sit up, ready to defend him from the monster, but Vincent only laughs and drawls a giggling Todd into his arms. "I want to play!" Todd cries a little too loud, and I see Vincent cautiously glance at the door.

"Be quiet, Toddy," Vincent warns. "It's late, and your parents think you're asleep. If you're too loud, your mother will come and make you go back to bed. If you want to stay with us, you have to be quiet."

"But I want to _play_." I recognize the signs of a tantrum coming on. Irritated, Vincent swiftly stands, Todd struggling in his arms. I reach out to my brother, but Vincent twists his body to prevent me from touching Todd.

"Don't," I murmur, not sure if even I heard my weak attempt at protesting. Vincent looks back at me and smirks.

"Say goodnight to Cynda, Toddy." His voice no longer holds any mirth, it is harsh and bordering on angry. "I'll be back, Cynda," Vincent promises with a backward glance at me.

After the door has closed, I roll over on my side and stare out the window. Even though it is dark outside, I can see the ghosts of Vincent's victims hovering on the snow, their pale features almost camouflaging them. Their mournful song is heard through the closed windows, even in death they are crying for Vincent.

It is sad, but I feel a sense of unity with them. I reach out a pale hand toward the ghostly figures. Perhaps tonight will be the night I join them.

Several minutes pass and I feel myself become drowsy. I have slept all day, but Vincent's terrifying visit has drained my already weakened body. I am almost asleep when I hear his customary knock on the door. For the second time tonight, I walk submissively to the door and open it, resigned to fate.

The door is barely ajar before he storms into the room, almost shoving me aside in the process. He continues to walk further into the room then sits down on my bed. He looks thoughtfully at me.

"Come here, Cynda." Vincent pats the empty spot next to him. I want to hang my head and whimper; but instead I force myself to keep my head high, although I am unable to look the monster in the face. He sighs impatiently and grabs my wrist and jerks me forward. I fall onto the bed with an ungraceful flop on my stomach.

Before I can sit up, Vincent places one cold hand on my back, pinning me down and forcing me to remain still. He leans closer to my ear and says, "Such an adorable boy, Todd is. I'm going to miss sinking my teeth into his young flesh."

I crane my neck to look Vincent in the face. He smiles viciously and begins to stroke my back. He continues, "But all good things must come to and end. I'm sure your father and stepmother will miss him terribly." He sighs in fake empathy.

"What?" I manage to croak.

"Cynda." He suddenly removes his hand from my back and holds his arms up in mock surrender. I sit up, eyeing him suspiciously. "How about you and I come to an agreement?" He pauses, waiting for me to encourage him; but when I don't, he resumes his speech, obviously disappointed with me. "Come with me, or I'll indulge and little Toddy won't survive. Think of how tragic that would be."

I look at the floor, disgusted with how I got myself into this situation. The prospect of spending eternity with this monster is an unthinkable horror. Was it only a week ago that I would have given anything to elope with this mysterious, dark stranger away from Underhill Inn, away from my family? Such dreams seem petty and naïve now.

"Why?" My voice is little more than a whisper.

"Why?" he laughs. "Because I'm lonely and I have never felt such love for anyone as I feel for you." His voice is laced with sarcasm. He is mocking my naïveté again. Appalled, I stand and move away from the bed. Vincent smiles and reclines across the old quilt; I feel his eyes watching me as I travel across the room to the window.

"You're so amusing," he says. "And to think I almost didn't stop the night of the snow storm. Over the past sixty years I had almost forgotten the charms of Underhill." I can almost feel his satisfied expression. I know that if I turn around to look at him, his dark features would be twisted into a smug expression as he stares at the ceiling, celebrating his own genius.

"Call it an ego thing," he continues. "But I want someone to be entirely devoted to me and dependent on me, and who would be more entertaining than you? Your silly emotions are so amusing and dramatic." Suddenly the air around me is colder, and I feel him behind me. He brushes aside my tangled hair to one side of my neck.

I involuntary inhale sharply when I feel a pair of lips of my neck, but to my surprise, the painful nip of his teeth never comes. Instead, his icy kisses travel up my neck, causing me to shiver. I feel his lips twist into a smirk.

"Think of it, Cynda," he says huskily. "Living forever with the only person who has ever listened, ever cared. I won't abandon you like your mother or ignore you like your father." I struggle to shake my head, but he doesn't pay attention. "And dear, sweet Toddy will live to see another summer," he chuckles darkly.

His cold kisses depart from my neck, and he tenderly pulls me into a tight embrace. I groan in protest. My head is abruptly shoved against his chest as he tightens the embrace. He places his cheek on my head and crosses his arms around my stomach.

"But such an imperative decision should never be made hastily," he whispers. "We'll talk tomorrow."

With one finally kiss, he breaks the embrace, and before I can blink he is by the door on the other side of the room. As he quietly opens the door, he looks back to me and calls, "I'll come to thee by moonlight, my dear." Then he disappears into the hallway.

I watch the door close; I want to throw something at it. Instead I return my gaze to outside the window. The ghosts are still outside, wailing. I pity them. Yet…I also envy them. How I wish to be done with this and away from Vincent. Even death seems more inviting than the dark creature's embrace.


	2. Chapter 2

Big thanks to Queen Chanel, DInseyPIrate, twilighter256, October Thorne, and starzx3 for reviewing! You guys really made my week.

* * *

In an attempt to forget Vincent's threats from last night, I sit on the couch, nervously flipping through one of Todd's books. My little brother is sprawled out on the carpet; I think he is asleep. I glance at him then quickly turn a fat, glossy page of the book. The page slices my finger. I hiss in pain.

Todd jolts to life, awakened by my cry. "C-cynda?" he asks somewhat disoriented.

"It's me, Toddy," I reply, hastily clamping two fingers around the throbbing cut. Todd stands and walks over to me, his curiosity piqued.

"What'd you doing?" he asks, glancing at my hand.

"Nothing, I just gave myself a paper cut." I'm a little mortified when I see Todd stare at my hand almost longingly. "I'm going to get a band-aid," I say and quickly stand. I can hear Todd following me as I walk down the hallway.

"Vincent's gunna be down soon," Todd says merrily as we enter the kitchen. I look at the little round clock hanging on the wall; it's four o'clock in the afternoon. In an hour it will be dark.

"Maybe you and I can do something," I say, "without Vincent. Let's go outside and make another snowman." I smile, hoping to encourage a positive reaction from him, but Todd shakes his head.

"I don't want to go outside." He twists his face into a dismayed expression. "It's too cold. Vincent doesn't want me to be around you anyways," he says.

"What?" I grab Todd's arm and kneel down to look him in the eye. The sweet, innocent boy he once was is gone. Now his expression is hard and cruel, similar to Vincent's. It's frightening how quickly Toddy fell under his spell and became an emotional replica.

"Vincent told me to stay away from you, that you'll hurt me." He begins to wiggle, trying to escape my grasp. "Let me go, or I'll tell Vincent."

"Toddy," I say gently, "Vincent doesn't care. He doesn't care about you; he doesn't care about me. He's a mean man who wants to hurt you. You have to stay away from him. Please, at least for me?"

Todd looks like he's about to cry. He furiously yanks his arm free and screams, "I liked it better before you came; I don't want you here anymore. Vincent promised me that he'll take you away from here for good."

I sit down on the ground, his hurtful words echoing in my head. "Toddy," I begin to say, but he runs away from me, fleeing in the direction of his mother's sewing den.

I look at the abandoned space where Todd just stood. I've never felt so alone or defeated in my life. My father and Susan, my stepmother, are enthralled with Vincent. And like he said, if I told them, they would take his word over mine.

I slowly stand and lean against the wall, breathing slowly. I feel tired and weak. I begin to walk toward my room when a splash of cream on the wall catches my attention. _The phone_. I stop dead in my tracks.

_Will_. Just thinking his name brings me hope. He believes me. He knows what Vincent is. He would help me. I walk to the phone, hope flourishing in me. I dial his number.

"_Hello?"_ Will says. His youthful, warm voice is not at all like Vincent's.

"Will, it's me, Cynda," I whisper, afraid that Vincent will hear me all the way up in his room. It is quiet on the Will's end. I'm sure he's mad at me. The last time I saw him, I remained silent and passive while Dad and Susan banished him from the Inn under Vincent's false pretense that he had tried to attack me.

"_Are you okay?_" he asks after a lengthy pause.

"No, not really," I answer a little louder, courageously. "I need…" I stop suddenly, feeling someone starring at me. I turn around.

Vincent is standing in the doorway, his arms crossed and body rigid.

"_Cynda?"_ I hear Will say, but I don't respond. Vincent smirks.

I turn my back to Vincent, pretending I'm about the hang up the phone. "The shack, thirty minutes," I whisper as quickly and quietly as I can, praying that Vincent hasn't heard me. I hang up the phone before Will can even respond.

"Was that Will?" Vincent asks once I've turned to face him again. He's now leaning against the doorframe, blocking the only exit out of the room.

"No," I lie, "I called my friend…to see how she was." Vincent raises an eyebrow.

"Oh," he says and nonchalantly flicks off a piece of invisible dust from his black sweater. "I met Susan on my way downstairs. She says Todd is awfully upset with you. I told her that it might be beneficial for both you and Toddy if you got out of the house, at least for a little while."

"No, I'm fine," I say, looking over his shoulder for Dad or Susan, hoping one of them could rescue me from this confrontation.

Vincent smiles, his deadly teeth barely exposed. "I offered to take you for a walk."

"She wouldn't agree to let me go anywhere with you alone," I answer. Susan had once been suspicious of my feelings toward Vincent, but now she'd fallen under his spell and didn't see the harm in him.

I look at the kitchen window, assessing its possibility as an escape route. "She really didn't mind," he states coolly from his perch. I look back at him. His dark eyes are bright and his face looks almost joyful. He's entertained with my uneasiness. "It would be the perfect opportunity to talk."

Vincent takes a step closer to me, away from the doorway, and I see my chance. I brazenly move forward, hastily walking past him. I feel a bit relieved as I enter the hallway, but a cold hand clamps around my wrist, dragging me back into the kitchen. He spins me around to face him.

"Cynda…" he whispers warningly then looks down at my hand, as if it had distracted him. He glances at me, his eyes still gleeful. "Have you cut yourself?" Before I can answer, he starts massaging my hand and singles out the injured finger. He inspects the small wound that is bright red against my skin.

"How intoxicating," he says, bringing my hand closer for him to examine. I feel sick; I want to fight, but I'm frozen, too afraid to do anything. Vincent twists my hand and exposes my wrist, blue veins obvious under my pale skin. I squirm, but he holds me firm. "Sweet Cynda," he murmurs and brings my wrist closer to his lips, to his teeth.

He playfully nips my skin then drops my hand. Still a little dazed, I take a step back, fearful about he might do next. I look at Vincent, who is looking expectantly at the doorway. Suddenly Todd appears.

"Hello Toddy," he says happily.

"Mommy said she would be gone," Todd complains, glaring at me. "I want you to read to me, without Cynda."

"How convenient then," Vincent answers, "that Cynda was going to her room. She has some thinking to do." He places a cold hand on my back and gently pushes me away. "Until later, dear Cynda."

Vincent brushes past me and ushers Todd out of the kitchen. I can hear them talking as they walk into the living room. Their eerie laughter reverberates down the hallway, creating an ominous atmosphere in the darkening house.

I quickly run to my room. There is no time to waste – I have to meet Will at his shack. I pull on a loose sweatshirt, a thick jacket, and rubber snow boots. Satisfied that I am dressed warm enough to make it to the shack, I cautiously open my window and kick out the screen, careful not to make a sound that might alarm my parents, or worse Vincent.

Mentally thanking Dad for putting me in a room on the bottom floor, I crawl out the window and land on the ground a little ungracefully. It is almost dark outside but I can see enough to make my way in the general direction of the shack. With the little amount of energy I have, I run.

By the time I see the outline of the shack in the distance, it is dark and I am tired. I force myself to continue moving forward, for Todd's sake. Will is the only chance I have of defeating the monster. I slowly approach the door, happy to almost be at my destination.

I stop abruptly, something is wrong. There are two sets of tracks in the crisp snow leading to the shack. _Will_, his name enters my thoughts again, expect this time it doesn't bring any hope. He's in danger.

I slowly open the door, afraid of what I will see.

"Cynda," a deep, familiar voice says. I cringe. It is not Will's kind voice that is greeting me.


	3. Chapter 3

Super huge thanks to DisneyPIrate, starzx3, October Thorne, Ashlyn Valentine, and E-SQUARED101 for reviewing! Y'all are the greatest. :)

* * *

"Cynda, come in," Vincent's deep voice beckons from inside the dark shack. I hesitantly open the door barely wide enough for myself and quickly step into the shadows. Once the door is closed, there is absolutely no light; I can't even make out his outline.

I nervously begin to take a step forward, but stop, realizing it would be best to stay near the door in case anything should happen.

"Cynda, how nice of you to join us," Vincent says. He is a lot closer than I had imagined. I can feel him prowling close by, the floorboards creak with his every step.

"Will?" I call into the darkness, vainly hoping Will has not made it to the shack, that he didn't understand my message and stayed at home.

"Oh, don't worry. He's here, but he's a little _incapacitated _at the moment," Vincent chuckles. He steps closer; the air seems colder. I wrap my arms around myself.

"How did you know?" I say, straining my eyes to make out Vincent in the blackness. He laughs.

"Come now, dear. Surely you knew how terribly obvious your plan was. You should have hung up the phone and tried another time." He stops and laughs again. He places his hand on my shoulder. "The shack was easy enough to find, once you showed me what direction it was in. But all the more fun for me, now that Will has joined our little game."

"Where is Will?" I ask.

His hand strays away from my shoulder and begins to trace up and down my spine. "You know, he is not the first rival to vie for my victim's attention. Alas, they have all come to a most unfortunate end." He sighs dramatically as if recalling a sad story.

I turn around and face him, at least I think I face him. I feel his hand hovering in the air; I violently push it away. "Stop talking," I demand. "Tell me where Will is." I hear him snigger quietly.

"Of course," he says. There is a loud noise and a flick of orange. Vincent's pale fingers are illuminated by the newly lit match. He holds up a candle and brings the small flame to the wick. Suddenly, there is a small aura of light in which Vincent is clearly visible, but hardly anything else.

Vincent holds the candle higher and walks away. He abruptly stops and turns around to look at me, beckoning me to follow. Unhappily, I leave the safety of the door and march forward.

As we approach the table in the center of the room, Will's curly hair comes into sight, then the rest of him. Panic begins to rise when I notice he is not moving. His head rests on the table, his arms are hanging lifelessly at his side; I don't even now if he is breathing. I quickly rush to him and shove him against the back of the chair. He doesn't groan or protest; he doesn't even open his eyes. I glance at his neck, fearing what I will see.

I inhale sharply. A vicious wound is gushing blood.

"Will?!" I shout, shaking his limp body. "Will, wake up!" When he doesn't move, I clamp my hand to his wound, hoping it's not too late.

There is a scraping noise of wood against the floor as Vincent pulls the nearest chair out to sit. I glance at him. The bastard is smiling.

"You waste your energy. At this point, the blood will not clot anymore," he says and leans forward. "I'm assuming the fact that you don't feel a pulse hasn't deterred you."

"Will," I say again and shake him. "Come on, Will!"

"Your persistence is admirable, but you're becoming hysterical," Vincent sneers.

After what feels like an eternity of trying to get Will to wake up, I look at Vincent and mutter, "Is he…" I can't finish the sentence. I'm too afraid to say the word.

"Yes," Vincent replies, his eyes cold, "Will is dead."

I'm going to be sick. I sink to my knees and pull myself closer to Will's dead body. I press my ear against his chest, praying I'll hear a faint heat beat – I don't.

"Despite recent events, I'm sure your parents will be upset to hear Will has disappeared. I imagine when his body is found they will be quite devastated, not to mention his poor grandmother. And he showed such potential," Vincent says, studying the barely visible paintings on the wall. I rise and face him. I want to kill him.

As if on cue, he stands and walks over to Will. "Now, dearest Cynda, how do you propose we get rid of the body? Dumping into the ocean is a particular favorite of mine, but perhaps you have an idea?" Vincent pats Will's head as if he were a dog. He glances at me and smirks.

"Get away from him," I cry and shove Vincent away. He takes a step back.

"Fine, fine." Obviously annoyed, Vincent straightens his sweater. "Mourn for him if you want, but I am going to dispose of the boy and you're going to help." Before I can say anything, Vincent glides forward and throws Will's body over his shoulder with surprising ease. "Now, now. No need to say anything," he says and grabs my arm. "I won't take 'no' for an answer."

Vincent pulls me out of the shack and into the cold night air, and we slowly begin to make our way toward the cliffs. I find it hard not to look at the ground. Every now and then, tiny drops of blood drip from Will and fall onto the bright snow, and with every drop my grief builds. By asking Will to help, I killed him. I don't want to show weakness in front of the monster, but I slowly feel my resolve start to crumble. I softly begin to cry.

When we reach the cliffs, I am out of breath and tired. Vincent, however, looks livelier than I've ever seen him. Killing is really a sport to him. He throws Will's body onto the ground.

"Cynda, would you like the honor?" Vincent asks, raising one of his eyebrows. I stare at the ground and shake my head. "Not surprising," he chuckles.

As Vincent rolls the body toward the edge of the cliffs, I feel another presence; I turn around. The ghosts are hovering above the snow, softly crying. Eleanor, Vincent's previous victim from Underhill, is the closest to us. She points away from me. I follow her gaze.

Carelessly, Vincent pulls out a pocket knife from his pants and flips it open. I know what he is going to do – he's going to cover his tracks. I hastily shut my eyes, but I still hear the sickening sound of flesh being ripped. I open my eyes too soon and I see deep cut slit across Will's white neck.

Then, almost nonchalantly, Vincent kicks Will's corpse over the side of the cliffs.

"No!" I scream and run forward, praying somehow Will is alive and hanging on to a branch.

I shove pass Vincent and look at the sea. The moon is full tonight, and I can faintly see the violent waves smashing up against the rock. "Will!" I yell, but he's gone. His body is not even visible.

I rock back and forth in the snow, calling for Will. Behind me I can hear the ghosts wail. I want to join them, I want to be dead. At least in death I would be free of the monster. I quickly stand and lean forward, toward the edge. I feel myself falling, but Vincent grabs me.

"No!" he shouts furiously. He is angry now. "Do not be so eager for death. If you kill yourself, I'll send playmates for you. Maybe even dearest Susan could join." I want to struggle, but he is making me remain still. He wraps his arms around me and pulls me to him then nuzzles my neck.

"Precious, silly Cynda, isn't this fun?" Vincent whispers, his anger suddenly gone, only to be replaced with his usual arrogant playfulness. "What a beautiful evening. It's amazing how glorious these cliffs are at night." He glances back at the ghosts and smiles, mocking them. "Ah, but I'm still hungry. What do you say, Cynda?"

He clamps his hand around my neck and tilts my head up. I look at the ghosts. They've stopped wailing and are silent. I see Eleanor floating in the mist. Strangely, I feel at peace. I stiffen when he bites my flesh, the pain is horrible. I look at the stars and then, darkness.

* * *

I jolt awake, pain searing from my neck. I look about me, surprised to find I'm back in my bed. There is a fire in the fireplace, and a lone figure sitting in the chair in front of it. Vincent is studying the crackling flames. Large shadows thrown by the blazing fire dance around the room.

Gingerly I touch the two prickling marks on my neck. They've been reopened. I look at the clock on my nightstand. It's only twelve o'clock.

I fall back onto my pillows, completely drained of energy. I can't believe how weak I've become. Breathing seems like a chore. I close my eyes, hoping to find solace, or at least sleep. I feel myself slipping from consciousness when I jerk awake again.

Vincent is now standing at the side of the bed, leaning against the post. "Too much fun?" he asks. I close my eyes. "Oh, Cynda, don't go to sleep now. The night has barely begun." He sits on the edge of the mattress.

"Will put up quite a fight," Vincent says. "Quite the hero. He would have made a good boyfriend, perhaps even a husband someday." He continues to talk, but I don't listen. I close my eyes. I see Will's pale body, his throat slit.

"Oh God," I moan and hit my head, angrily wishing the horrible images would go away. But they don't. They keep reminding me that I've killed Will. _Go away, go away, go away, _I think, but Will's lifeless form still haunts me. I brutally begin to beat my head. Far away I hear Vincent.

"Stop, stop, Cynda, stop!" Vincent is yelling. I ignore him – I have to be rid of those images.

Strong hands grab my thrashing arms and pin them down to the bed. Vincent's irritated face looms above mine. "What," he says dangerously low, "were you doing?"

"Oh God," I repeat. "I've killed him, I've killed him." Tears pour from my eyes and I can feel my nose becoming snotty, but I don't care. I don't care if Vincent is repulsed, hopefully he'll leave. But he doesn't. He remains above me, holding my hands down.

"Of course, Cynda. Did you really think your escape plan would work? That there would be no repercussions? My dear, there is no way to escape." He smiles for a moment then hisses, "And now you have his death on your hands."

He lets go of one of my hands and grabs for the Kleenex box on my nightstand. He gently pulls a single tissue from the box and dabs my face with it. "Hopefully," he says, wiping my cheek, "you never cried in front of Will." I jerk my face away from his grip.

"Calm down, Cynda," he coos and continues to clean my face. "I will give you eternal beauty, and you will be my queen of the night."

"But I don't want it," I say, fresh tears springing to my eyes.

Vincent smirks and playfully flicks a stray strand of hair away from my face. "Poor Toddy, condemned by his own sister," he sighs. He releases my other hand and gets off the bed. He strides over to the desk to where the trashcan is. I watch him throw the tissues away.

"Fine," I whisper. "Please, don't kill Toddy, don't kill Toddy." I'm going crazy, I know I'm going crazy. Vincent slowly turns to face me. He is smiling.

"Never," he says. Swiftly he moves toward me. He climbs onto the bed and pulls me into a sitting position. His cold fingers lightly stroke my face and he asks, "Then we have an agreement?"

"Just don't kill Todd," I repeat. His hand travels to my hair and pulls my pony tail out. He begins to twist a strand of hair.

He doesn't say anything. His cold lips kiss my neck, causing the two little marks to burn. I feel his pointed teeth nip at the skin. I take a deep breath and he makes his move. For the second time this evening, he bites into my neck and I faint.


	4. Chapter 4

A HUGE thanks to rawwrrrrashlEyy, MUW D'Bellegirl, Black Laced Heart, Black Laced Heart, DisneyPirate, A Mechanical Lemon, starzx3, and October Thorne for reviewing! You guys are the reason I crawl out of bed in the morning.

* * *

I slowly open my eyes, then quickly shut them. The sunlight pouring in through the window is bright, too bright. I throw a flimsy hand over my eyes, trying to shield myself from the intense light. Surprised, I open my eyes again, this time underneath the covers.

I examine my hand. Even in the dull light, I can see it's still a somewhat healthy, normal color, not at all like Vincent's snow white skin. And it's warm, indicating that I'm still alive. I was sure Vincent was going to kill me last night, but he didn't. I fell no relief. Even though I'm alive now, I doubt I'll be so for much longer. I don't believe Vincent's threat to make me like him is sincere. I figure after he has grown tired of me, he will dump my blood-drained corpse off the cliff, like Eleanor...and Will.

Oh God, Will. The recollection of his name reminds me of his ghastly corpse illuminated by the candlelight. I imagine him fighting, but quickly overcome by Vincent. I don't know what I was thinking. He was never a match for Vincent; he could have never helped me. I feel so horribly foolish.

It is becoming dark underneath the covers, meaning my eyes are adjusting to the light. I slowly pull the covers down. I blink a few times, but the light isn't near as severe. After a few seconds, I am able to open my eyes fully. I take a deep breath when I notice is Vincent is still in my room. He is sitting in the chair near the fireplace, apparently watching the smoldering fire die. He shifts and places a hand on the arm of the chair.

Quickly I burrow underneath the covers in the hopes of being left alone. Perhaps if he thinks I am still asleep he will leave soon. I don't want to face him. I want to stay in the relative safety underneath the covers and mourn for Will. I curl in a ball and wrap my arms around my legs. It is freezing in my room. Even underneath several thick blankets, I am shivering.

I cringe when Vincent speaks. "Little mouse," he calls from the world outside my haven. I shut my eyes, praying he'll think I'm asleep. "Your breathing has changed." He pauses, allowing his velvety words to sink in. "I know you're awake." I remain silent, wishing my horror would dissipate and be replaced by some form of courage.

"Cynda," Vincent says, "won't you come out? Will didn't hide from me, he didn't attempt to run. Very courageous of him, don't you think?" I wince. He's flaunting my weakness. I know I'm not courageous like Will. Perhaps if I were stronger, if I wasn't suffering from too little blood, it would be different. But it's more than just physical. Vincent has slaughtered all hope; I am emotionally drained.

"Cynda," he beckons, "come here and let me kiss away your tears." I clench my hands into fists. I'm angry with how weak he makes me feel. I've never felt so horrible. "Little mouse," Vincent sings, "come out and play."

I even my breathing, vainly trying to sound like I'm asleep. It's stupid to think I can fool him, but it's all I have. My ploy doesn't work. Vincent has left his chair, and I can almost _feel_ him walking toward the bed. On the old rug covering the brick floor, his footsteps are barely audible, but I know he is there.

I feel the mattress sink under his weight. Vincent is sitting on the corner of my mattress. The mattress shifts again as he reclines across the foot of my bed. He begins to pet my covered foot.

"Little mouse," he says, "come out from your hiding." I groan. He is going to make me face him, whether I want to or not. I feel him sit up again. He pats my leg. "Cynda," he snaps, "come out."

I can feel him lean forward and grab a handful of the covers. He pulls them back, exposing me. I quickly sit up; Vincent smirks. "Hello, little mouse," he says. "Did you sleep well?"

I just stare at him. He looks quite placid today. This newfound calmness frightens me, though. I expect him to pounce at any moment. He leisurely leans forward and grabs my arm; I glance at the window just behind him. I have a plan, albeit a foolhardy one. I lower my head in submission and move toward him. He pulls me closer to him until I'm pressed against his chest and his arms are around me.

His cool breath tickles my neck. He raises a hand, and a lone cold finger caresses the two little marks. I close my eyes and feel him trace the wounds, back and forth, back and forth. The marks are reacting to his closeness and are burning, yearning for more of his touch. As if he could read my mind, he lightly kisses my neck, and I groan - the marks are suddenly ablaze. I know he's doing this to relish in my discomfort.

I begin to struggle, and his grip slackens. I take advantage of the weakened embrace and push away from Vincent. I hear him laugh as I jump off the bed. I am almost halfway to the window when I feel him grab the back of my loose sweatshirt. I trip and fall to the ground, knocking my forehead on the brick floor.

I moan and roll onto my back. Through blurred vision, I see Vincent standing above me - he is nothing more than a shadowy shape of black and white. He tuts in disapproval and kneels down next to me. "Cynda," he coos, "you're far too weak to bolt like that. You could have hurt yourself." He delicately touches my temple.

I turn on my side, shielding myself from him. My brain is on fire. It feels like it is literally burning inside my head. I bring a hand to my forehead and am horrified to feel wet, sticky blood. I stare dismally at my red stained fingers.

Vincent strokes my face, pushing a few strands of hair behind my ear, baring my tears of pain to him. Oh God, I'm angry, frustrated. This horrible situation is my fault. If I had listened to Susan or Will and stayed away from Vincent, I wouldn't be at the mercy of this monster every waking moment.

His finger leaves my face. With a graceful, fluid movement, he picks me off the ground and sets me gently on the bed. I try to move away from Vincent when he starts to pull the covers over me, but a warning look from him convinces me not to move. Once again, he sits down on the bed, so dangerously close to me. I want to squirm away, but the heavy blankets prevent me from moving too far without being obvious.

My head is killing me. I just want Vincent to disappear, and in a moment of weakness, I beg. "Please," I plead, "just leave Underhill. Just leave us alone." Even though the words are faint in my own ears, I know he has heard them.

Vincent chuckles and places a hand on my covered foot. It is a gesture of ownership. "All of my victims beg, implore, for their lives, but where's the fun in that? No, I'm quite fond of our little game, and when it pleases me I will make you mine."

"And when will that be?" I whisper.

"Quite soon, dearest Cynda," he says. I want to shove him away, but I'm mesmerized. He leans in closer and says, "You'll be mine forever."

There is a loud noise outside my room, somewhere in the kitchen, and Vincent and I both know that Susan is up. As per her usual morning routine, she will soon come to check in on me to make sure I'm still breathing. My "illness," extreme lethargy caused by lack of blood, once gave her a fright. She thinks I am anemic or have cancer, how wrong she is.

Vincent is still close, terribly close. He doesn't seem at all phased by the possible threat of Susan, but why should he? What could she possibly do to stop him? However, I hope he will want to keep up appearances and leave before Susan comes.

His fingers almost lovingly brush against my cheek. "Quiet soon, dearest Cynda," he repeats softly. I jerk when his cold lips meet mine. I attempt to push him away, but he becomes more forceful. A strong arm wraps around me, drawing me closer. His cold kisses travel away from my mouth and down my neck, tracing my jugular.

"Tonight, little mouse," he whispers in my ear. "Be prepared when I come tonight. I would have given you my blood last night, but I want you conscious for your change." He smiled. "So tonight all of our games will end, and so will your mortality."

He chuckles like he has told a funny joke, and I know he is going to kill me. This is all a joke to him, some depraved hobby he's had for hundreds of years. Poor Eleanor was probably promised immortality and everlasting beauty right up until Vincent killed her on the cliffs. Yet I am not so foolish. When he comes to drain me of blood tonight, I'll know my fate.

Vincent kisses my forehead, so close to the freshly bleeding cut, then climbs off of the bed. I glance at the window, the sun beginning to peak above the snowy countryside. "Cynda," Vincent says before he closes the door, "for your brother's sake, I wouldn't advise doing anything impulsive. And I think you've learned what happens when people get in between me and my prey."

He slowly closes the door and I hear him softly climb that stairs to the room above mine, then it is silent. Susan must be making coffee, because the smell of ground beans is wafting in from the kitchen, making me feel nauseous. I get off the bed and walk to the window. Outside it looks like a winter wonderland.

I carefully lean my battered forehead against the cold glass. I can see Vincent's snow covered car and my dad's sedan. I wish I could climb into Dad's car and drive far away, but Vincent's threat echoes in my mind. I would never leave Todd to the monster's mercy. He would be dead before I reached town.

Resignedly, I glance at the bright sun before closing the blinds and heading to bed. I'm too tired to think, too weary to do anything. As I drift off to sleep, I think I see Eleanor's sad ghost weeping in the corner.


	5. Chapter 5

In penance for not updating in awhile, I wrote a SUPER long chapter (well, super long for me). :) By the by, Hahn really didn't give much background about certain things (I'm being vague for a reason), so I'm going to borrow a certain other author's version.

Merci beaucoup CSell, rawwrrrrashlEyy, Dark knightress, c.a.s.1404, AiDeeKay, starzx3, audery amaris, October Thorne, and bloomsky for leaving such awesome and kind reviews!

* * *

Around one o'clock, the phone rang. Susan answered, and from how she responded, I was able to figure out it was Will's grandmother, Mrs. Bigalow, calling. Susan explained that she hadn't she hadn't seen Will, but if he stopped by she would let her know. Although Susan tried to give Will the benefit of the doubt, claiming he suffered from a mental illness, she was obviously perturbed that he was unaccounted for and running about.

As I stand in the shower, I can only think about the panic Mrs. Bigalow is feeling right now. There was a blizzard last night; she must have a feeling that Will is not okay. When they find his mutilated corpse, she'll be devastated, even more so by the apparent grisly details of his murder.

The house is still freezing. Earlier Susan tried to get me to eat some soup but I had no appetite. When I refused to eat, she placed her hands on her hips and pursed her lips. I couldn't tell if she was annoyed or worried. She ordered me to take a hot shower, thinking the warm water would somehow return my hunger. I nodded and slunk off to my room.

Now that I am warm, I don't feel much better. I used a soap that claimed it would calm my nerves, but the lavender scent only made me feel a little lightheaded. The water is starting to go cold. I've been standing in the shower for too long; I used all the hot water.

I quickly step out of the shower, dress in my pajamas, and wrap a towel around my head. The faster I get out of the bathroom, the sooner I can go back to bed. I open the bathroom door, letting steam billow out, and am surprised to see Todd jumping on my bed.

"Cynda!" Toddy cries. He looks healthier. His cheeks are flushed a bright pink. "I wanna go outside and make another snowman. Dad says I can't go out alone. I wanna go outside with you!"

"Toddy," Susan calls from the kitchen, "leave your sister alone. The cookies are ready if you want them." The scent of baking chocolate chip cookies floats into the room. There was a time when I would have knocked Todd over to get a warm, fresh baked cookie, but today the smell sickens me.

"Is Cynda awake?" I hear my dad ask. He must have been anxiously waiting in the kitchen for the cookies to be done. Susan murmurs a yes, and I mentally groan. I don't have the energy to withstand another interrogation about how I feel. I just want to close the curtains and go to sleep.

"Hey Toddy," Dad says as he enters my room. Todd is still jumping on my bed, even cookies couldn't entice him. Todd jumps higher, probably trying to vex our dad. Dad playfully smiles and grabs Todd off the bed and throws him over his shoulder. Toddy giggles and begs to be let down.

"Cynda," Dad says and turns to me, a wiggling Todd still laughing on his shoulder. "Why don't you come with us to the kitchen? I feel like I haven't seen you in ages."

I meet his eyes and force myself to smile. Despite my horrible temper lately, Dad still loves me. He's always loved me. I feel silly and childish for ever thinking he wouldn't. "Okay," I say. "Just give me a minute to put my hair up."

"Alright," he says. "Come on, Toddy. Let's go steal some cookies from Mommy." Dad races out of the room; I can hear Toddy giggling all the way to the kitchen.

I unwrap the towel from around my head and walk back into the bathroom. The mirror isn't fogged up anymore, and I can clearly see the dark circles underneath my eyes. I've also lost weight, but I can't say I'm elated about it. I quickly pull my hair into a loose ponytail and flip off the lights. I'm halfway across the room when I halt. My neck, the two little wounds. I practically run to my make-up bag and grab the concealer. After lathering a large amount onto my neck, I check the mirror. The marks are a faint pink color, nothing too noticeable.

In the room above mine, Vincent starts to pace. I freeze. I wonder what he is trying to tell me. As much as I would like to expose him for being the horrible monster that he is, I can't. Whatever kind of control he has over me, it forces me not to betray him. I know the thought of me trying to tell my dad what Vincent is makes him laugh, but I like to he's a bit worried that something might slip. It gives me a little bit of empowerment.

"Cynda, c'mon!" Todd yells. "Daddy says I can't have a cookie without you." My little brother seems to be much happier than he has been lately. But then again, Vincent probably wasn't hungry last night…

The pacing stops; I take a deep breath and exit the room. The kitchen is alive with my family's laughter. Todd's high voice rises above Dad and Susan's chuckles as he tells them a joke. When the punch line comes, they both clap their hands and laugh harder. Susan hands him and cookie, and Todd sinks into the chair, happily munching the chocolate treat.

"Here, Cynda." Susan smiles and hands me a gooey cookie wrapped in a napkin. I return the smile and slide into the chair next to Toddy. As I sit down, Dad grins and dunks his cookie into a glass of milk.

"How are you feeling today, honey?" Dad asks. I resist the urge to cringe. I knew this was coming.

"Alright, I guess," I say, shrugging my shoulders. Next to me, Todd has finished his cookie and is eagerly looking at his mom for another one. Susan, feigning ignorance, turns to the dirty dishes in the sink and starts scrubbing. I discreetly pass Todd my cookie. Todd, understanding the boldness of my move, silently slips away from the table so he can eat his cookie in peace.

"I saw that, you know," Dad says. He chuckles and looks at Todd, who is trying to hide behind a chair. I can't help but smile. Seeing Todd healthy and cheerful again makes me a feel a little better. "Susan tells me that you're not eating, are you sure you're feeling alright?"

"Yeah, it's just a cold," I lie. I fold the napkin into a tiny square. I've always fidgeted when my mom was starring me down – Dad isn't much better.

"I think we should go to the hospital, just to make sure. Maybe you've got a bad case of the flu." Dad gives me a reassuring smile.

Dread sweeps over me. I don't want to go to the hospital. I don't want to find out what Vincent would do if I attempted to flea from him. I quickly make up an excuse. "But I just went to the doctor," I say. "The results from the tests should be in any day."

Dad seems to ponder my words. He finishes his glass of milk and looks at me. "Well, if you're any worse tomorrow, I'm going to take you to the emergency room, got it?" I nod my head. "Okay, then why don't you try to eat something? I can make you some stew, doesn't that sound good?" I shrug my shoulders.

Dad rises from the table and heads into the kitchen, telling Susan he is going to make the "world's best stew." I walk out of the kitchen and into the living room. Todd is playing with a pair of toy cars, crashing them into each other and making explosion sounds. I love my brother. I wish I had met him before coming to Underhill.

I sit down and pat the cushion next to me. "Hey Toddy," I say, "do you want me to read you a book?"

Todd eagerly says yes and crawls next to me on the couch. He props his head against my shoulder as I open the book to his favorite story. "Once upon a time," I begin and look at him. He's so precious. I wrap an arm around his little shoulders and give him a hug. Todd huffs in annoyance.

"C'mon, just read the story," he says impatiently. I smile at him. For a small moment, the dread and sorrow that has been hovering over me disappears and I feel content and safe. Dad and Susan laugh in the kitchen, completing my moment of happiness. We are a family, and we love one another.

* * *

It's very late at night. Hours ago, Vincent came down for his nightly rendezvous with my parents by the fireplace – I politely declined when my dad asked me to join – then went back to his room about an hour later. Everyone is asleep. Underhill is totally quiet.

I'm standing by the window, looking at the snow. I don't know how I should feel right now, if I should be scared or worried; but I don't feel anything.

The knock on the door jolts me out of my stupor. I quietly glide over to the door, slightly hesitating before opening it. Vincent, dressed in his customary black, slips into the room and closes the door. He looks quite lively tonight, much like he did last night.

"Your parents told me they want to take you to the hospital. They're worried you won't recover from whatever it is that plagues you," Vincent says, his black eyes bright and mirthful. I step away from him and don't say anything. Vincent scrutinizes me.

"You look positively defeated, my dear." Vincent walks over to the chair by the fireplace and leans against it. I don't have enough lights on. Aside from the lone lamp emanating in the corner, the room is totally dark. Vincent is almost perfectly camouflaged.

A thousand words flood my mind. I want to scream, to plead, to curse Vincent to Hell, but I stay quiet. I lean against door and wait for Vincent to do something.

"Nothing to say, little mouse? How very heroic of you. Come here, my little martyr. Let me kiss away the tears brimming behind your eyes." Vincent doesn't wait for me to move; he pushes himself away from the chair and quietly marches toward me. I am suddenly totally rigid. My muscles are ready to bolt, to throw open the door and run out of Underhill Inn. But I don't.

Vincent is just inches from me. In the near dark, I can see his features perfectly. He's not smiling anymore, he looks totally indifferent. Now I am scared. Now everything seems horribly real. His dreadful words from this morning ring through my head. I remember his promise. He's going to kill me.

I feel my back tense even more as my instincts take over. There must be some way to kill him – everything has to die someday. I look at the tiny lamp in the corner again and think about all the zombie movies I've ever seen. Maybe a blow to the head would kill Vincent, it works on most everything else.

Before Vincent reaches me, I take a deep breath and move forward. Vincent must know I have a plan because he chuckles and stops walking. "What now, Cynda? Have you come up with another improvised strategy?" I walk past him, and he follows.

Once I've reached the table the lamp is on, I turn around and flinch when I see how close Vincent is. He's right behind me. I quickly make a grab for the lamp, but his hand seizes my wrist. "How very predictable," he says. With his other hand, he pushes the lamp away, out of my grasp.

Vincent looks angry. I try to wrestle away from his grip, but he holds my wrist steadily. "Enough," Vincent growls and lazily brings a hand to my neck and strokes the red marks. I feel strangely subdued. Tears of frustration begin to rise. I hate how those two tiny spots can control my body.

"Good girl," Vincent praises as if I were a dog. He slides his hand down my arm to my elbow and pulls, drawing me to him. I'm so scared. This is it. Now that I'm closer to death than I've ever been, I don't want to die. I want to wake from this horrible nightmare and forget about Vincent. But this is not a nightmare, and I won't wake to a world without Vincent. Strangely enough, I wish I'd gone to church more.

"There's no reason to worry, dearest Cynda," Vincent whispers darkly. "All the other girls became boring and I did away with them; but you still entertain me. I won't kill you. In fact, I'll give you eternal life." He begins to stroke my hair almost tenderly, but it does nothing to quell the emotions rising in me.

"Stop it," I hiss. "Just do it. If you're going to kill me, don't torment me with all your talk of eternal life. I'm sure Eleanor went to her death thinking she'd live forever. Just kill me and get it over with." I'm seething. I'm mad about Eleanor, about Will, about the pain he's put Todd through. Vincent just smiles at me.

"So you do have something to say, little mouse." Vincent's face is aglow. He finds this all entertaining, just part of his sick game. I vow to remain silent and not give him the satisfaction of hearing me beg. "Oh, now I've upset you," he says. "My kisses will make you feel better."

Vincent brushes my hair behind my neck and leans forward. He wastes no time to bite my neck, and I feel the blood seep from me. My body goes lax, and I have to lean against Vincent in order to remain standing. His clothing is soft and warm. Oddly enough, the image of Vincent pulling out the pocketknife flashes through my mind. Perhaps he still has it on him.

My neck is on fire and I feel dizzy, but I somehow make myself focus. My hand quickly reaches up and I somehow get my hand into the pocket of his slacks without him stopping me. I close my eyes. There's a fifty-fifty chance I didn't choose the right pocket but my fingers fell cold metal. I swiftly pull the weapon out.

Vincent's cold lips leave my neck as I flip open the knife. I take a step back and swipe at his neck. As I suspected, but sooner than I had hoped, Vincent grabs my wrist and squeezes until I am forced to let go of my only defense. My captor laughs, but it is not a pleasant sound.

"Don't anger me, Cynda." Vincent whispers, his voice perilously low. "I'll slit your throat like Will and toss you off the cliffs. You'll join the congregation of girls who wail outside the walls of Underhill. Does that sound like a suitable end to your pitiful life?"

"You'll die someday," I stutter. "Everyone dies." Vincent's dark eyes meet mine. There is no mirth in them anymore. Vincent is able to keep his reserve, but I can tell that he is livid. He doesn't say anything; he just looks at me with his cold eyes. I feel like I've won a small victory. Still slightly unsteady, I try to stand tall.

Vincent violently grasps the nape of my neck and yanks me forward. His teeth viciously tear into my skin; I can't help but let out a yelp. This time I am not relaxed. I'm tense and the pain in my neck is unbearable. The wound on my neck is searing.

Several long, antagonizing moments pass, and I feel myself becoming dizzy. I'm starting to loose my vision. Everything is becoming white and blending into each other. My blood is still gushing out of the wound, but I figure I don't have much longer. In the past Vincent never took this much.

Vincent has to wrap an arm around my waist to support me. I am totally relying on him to keep me standing. He's practically holding me. His free hand strokes my hair.

"This is it, little mouse," Vincent murmurs. "Shall I kill you and throw you to the waves? Maybe I'll let you live for another day." His words barely make any sense to me. I'm trying so hard just to keep my eyes open, even though I can barely see. "But, I do believe we had an agreement. You'll be mine if I stay away from Toddy." He gently kisses my lips – the taste of my blood seeps into my mouth – before biting my neck again.

More time passes, and I don't know how I am still alive, even awake. All my reasoning says I should be unconscious or dead. Yet, I'm still alive, aware of everything Vincent is doing. Vincent picks me up and sets me on the bed. He seems to study me for a minute, but then he takes my wrist and softly nips at it. I feel the blood freely pour from the fresh wound as Vincent greedily drinks.

Unable to keep my eyes open any more, I close them. I'm near death, I can feel it. The blood in my veins slows down and becomes sparse. In response to the lack of blood, my heart is slowing down, too. My breathing is labored and sporadic. I'm so cold. It's like no cold I've ever experienced before. Surely my bones will freeze.

My body is aching. If I don't die soon from lack of blood, I'll be dead from the horrible pain. I want to scream, but I can't even make myself open my eyes. My body is unresponsive. Then it dawns on me: I'm dying. God, I don't want to die.

The pain and the cold suddenly vanish as fear envelopes me. I'm dying. It's all I can think about. I'm so scared about what will happen after I've died. I don't want to die. I'd do anything to stay alive, even for a few minutes.

Death is just a few heartbeats away. There's barely any blood left to take. Vincent drops my hand, and I feel my body relax, preparing for death. No, no, no! I don't want to die. I've barely lived. I mentally plead for Vincent not to kill me.

As much as I struggle, I feel myself slipping. I'm being drawn to the dark recesses of my mind. Any second now I'll be dead. I'm more afraid than ever. I don't want to die afraid, but I'm going to.

After what feels like an eternity of waiting for the death, I feel something beside the pain, the cold, and the fear. Something agonizingly warm has dropped onto my lips, slowly entering my mouth. The scorching liquid doesn't stop with one drop. Another burning bead drips into my mouth, followed by another. Soon a small trickle is flowing. I feel myself waking and becoming more alert.

I ravenously begin to drink; the liquid is returning my life. When I am strong enough to open my eyes, I see Vincent starring down at me, his usual smirk gone. He looks like he's in pain. Then I come to another realization: I'm drinking Vincent's blood. His wrist hovers above my lips, providing the stream of liquid pouring into my mouth.

The pain vanishes, and I'm filled with bliss. Any fears I once had are now gone. My only thoughts are about the delicious liquid now streaming into my mouth. Gradually warmth returns to my limbs, and I reach for Vincent's wrist and hold onto it, trying to get more. I greedily suck, enjoying the sensation his blood is creating.

Vincent rips his arm away from me and quickly uses his other hand to pin me down. The pain suddenly returns, this time tenfold. My body writhes under the horrendous pain. I hear my heartbeat slow, then stop. There is no more pain. Wearily, I close my eyes and slip from consciousness, thankful for the sudden reprieve.

I wake to a lone finger caressing my face. Vincent's cold hand delicately brushes away a lone tear. "Cynda," he coos, "you are weak; you must feed soon if you want to become strong. I will help you, but you must obey me." I nod.

A hand slides under my back and forces me to sit up. When I begin to slump, Vincent dutifully wraps an arm around me and keeps me steady. He stands, and I stand with him. Once again I'm leaning on Vincent for support, but I don't care. There is a lust in my body I have never felt before. I'm so hungry, I can barely see or think. It's almost animalistic, and I'll do anything to satisfy that hunger.

Slowly Vincent leads me out of the room. I follow him without question. I don't pay attention to where we are or where we're going. I just think about my hunger.

Ages seem to pass before we stop. We are in a room, a dark room. My eyes quickly adjust, and I see the outline of a body perfectly. I smell the blood running through the veins, and I hear the heart peacefully beating. Vincent lets go of me; I approach the body. I can barely control my self. With every step, I imagine biting into the flesh and drinking the gloriously warm blood.

I slide a finger along the neck and trace the blood just below the skin. There is no movement from the person. Unable to resist the temptation anymore, I hastily lower my lips onto the neck and bite. I am filled with complete bliss again. I voraciously drink the delicious blood, and with each swallow I feel myself become stronger.

Time seems to stop as I drink. I've never felt so wonderful in my life.

The blood soon turns to a trickle - then it stops. The person is cold in my arms, dead. I open my eyes to see who I have just killed. My eyes are keener than before, and with no light I can see the tuft of blond hair. I drop the body.

Oh, God. I gently flip the body over, already knowing what I am going to see. Todd's eyes are still open but they are unseeing. He's dead, and I killed him. I look up at Vincent, who is smiling victoriously.

"Very good, little mouse," he says.


	6. Chapter 6

Yeah, quite a long break... But the Halloween spirit inspired me to continue writing this little story. And my reviewers, of course :) This chappy is short, but later ones should be longer, I hope. As for Cynda's "transition," I stuck with the tried and true Anne Rice version, because I'm really not that creative.

Hugs and kisses to starzx3, rawwrrrrashlEyy, c.a.s.1404, DisneyPirate, Dark knightess, xxlucifersangel666xx, Mary Lise, and October Thorne for reviewing. Reviews make my heart feel all warm and tingly.

* * *

I try to say something, try to speak the words that are flying through my mind, but only guttural noises escape my lips. I hold the limp body close to me, willing for Toddy to return. Frantically I pet his damp hair. But nothing happens. Somewhere in the back of my mind I know that Toddy isn't in a coma that he can wake from, but I can't comprehend it. Toddy can't be dead – he's only a young boy; young boys don't die.

"Toddy," I whisper, my lips brushing against his hair. "Toddy, please wake up, please wake up." I pick up a lifeless hand and hold it, hysterically feeling for a pulse. Nothing. "Toddy, I'm so sorry."

I drop his little hand -- it falls swiftly to the floor. I slump against the wall, letting the body roll away from me. Something inside me seems to break, and I start weeping. I pull my knees up to my chest and rest my head on them.

I would have happily died for Toddy. But I didn't protect him. _I killed him_. Those three words plague my mind, constantly repeating themselves. I said I would protect him but I killed him. How can I continue…_existing_ knowing that I have ended poor Toddy's life? It seems so unfair, so wrong.

"Poor Cynda," a voice says. I look around, dazed. The voice continues, "If you had stopped, you might have saved his life. You will have to learn to control yourself."

Vincent is standing before me. He shoves the body away with his foot, and then he kneels. He places a white hand on my knee. "He could still be alive," he murmurs.

Before Vincent can say something else, I slap him; the harsh sound reverberates in the room. "You bastard," I say. "How could you? I agreed to your sadistic preposition in exchange for Toddy's safety. And you…and you do this?!"

After a short pause, Vincent chuckles, "I didn't do anything."

I lunge myself at Vincent, scratching, tearing, trying to hurt him. I want him to feel pain.

The short burst of courage I feel quickly vanishes. Vincent knocks me off balance and quickly overpowers me, pinning me to the ground and clasping my writhing arms together. Anger radiates off him. He dips his head close to mine.

"I'm thrilled your emotions survived your transition," Vincent whispers in my ear. "How entertaining you shall be." For several seconds, we stay in the same position. One of his hands tangles through my hair and pets the nape of my neck. I attempt to shift away from him, but he grips my neck, paralyzing me.

As quickly as he subdued me, Vincent lets me go and pushes himself off the ground. He's now standing, looming, high above me. "Get up," he barks. "We're leaving Underhill."

_Leave Underhill?_ I think. My gaze wanders from Vincent's dark outline to Toddy. I can't leave his corpse here to rot in his own room. I don't want to leave Dad and Susan and the small sense of security I feel when I'm around them. "I am _not _leaving," I say resolutely.

Vincent remains quiet; the only sound to be heard is the soft rustle from him readjusting his clothes. I can't really see him in the dark, but I'm sure his pale face is sporting a pensive expression.

"Perhaps," he says abruptly, "it would be advantageous to stay at Underhill for a few days." He pauses before continuing, "I wouldn't want to tire my young protégé too soon." Dread seeps in and I suddenly doubt myself. His voice is light and playful. Maybe it would be better to leave.

I see the danger now. How can Dad and Susan possibly be safe with two monsters in the house? Whatever Vincent has planned, it can't be good for them. No, I must convince Vincent to leave Underhill tonight.

"Wait," I say. "I was wrong. We should leave. I want to leave." My tormentor laughs.

"No, no, dear Cynda. We shall stay here for a few days. I have only your welfare in mind," he says. He proffers a hand. "Come, you need to rest. I'll get rid of dead little Toddy while you sleep; and when you wake, it will be like Todd never existed."

I refuse to move. Vincent will have to pick me up off of the ground if he wants me to leave Toddy's room, which, to my dismay, he does. I struggle, but he slings me over his shoulder. One of his arms tightly holds my legs together while the other presses my on the small of my back.

As we exit the room, Vincent whispers teasingly, "I would be quiet if I were you, Cynda. If you wake your parents and they come out to investigate, even I might not be able to keep you from attacking them. Instinct is a powerful force to reckon with."

I expect him to turn and go towards stairs, but it seems we're not going to my room. Vincent is walking further down the hallway, away from the stairs. We're going to his room. God, what's the point in protesting? I'm past defeated, past caring.

I suddenly feel weary, wearier than I have ever been before. My mind wanders. I think about Todd and Will. The image of them reading a book together haunts me. They should be alive, _they should be alive._ I should be dead. Why was I such a fool? Why could I not have been stronger?

I'm dropped unceremoniously on a bed, Vincent's bed. "You stay here," he says. "I'll be back before sunup." He only hovers for a few seconds before departing from the room. I hear his quiet footfalls all the way down the hall, back towards Toddy's room.

I roll over on my back and stare at the opaque ceiling. Like the rest of Underhill, the room is cold and dark, but in here there's a faint scent that's unique only to Vincent. It's suffocating, overwhelming.

My body is aching again. I cross my arms across my chest. My eyelids are becoming heavy; I close my eyes.

My sleep is full of horrible dreams of Will and Toddy, cold and dead.


	7. Chapter 7

Bam! Chapter! I had to cut this little, um, jewel into two halves, or it never would have ended, lol. Hopefully this chapter doesn't bog you, my kind reader, down too much.

Thanks to BeachVampire17, miriamne, masuie, sadie, and darkangel1994 for reviewing!

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_Cynda…_

A voice calls to me in my dreams. It's a nice voice, a pleasant voice. It calls again, this time louder and more urgent, "_Cynda, where are you?_" My brow furrows. The voice sounds sad; I don't want to upset it. I mumble something, trying to reassure the voice that I'm right here, safe in the blackness.

"_CYNDA!_" the voice cries. I jolt awake. The unfamiliar room I'm in is dark, except for a strip of light due to the small parting between the curtains. Through the gap, I can see that the world outside the window is a painting of pinks and orange on the snow covered ground. It must be early evening.

I hear it, my name being frantically called, again. It's Susan -- she's been the one calling my name. There's a loud crash like glass being dropped, and Susan swears loudly. A second voice, speaking too low for me to understand, speaks. I recognize the tone. I check the room, but I already know that I'm alone, which means Vincent is downstairs with Susan.

I rush out of the room and down the stairs. They are in the kitchen; their conversation is hushed and serious.

"Damn it!" Susan shrieks, the sound of the phone being slammed back on its receiver follows. I quickly walk into the kitchen. Vincent is casually leaning against the counters by the window and Susan is by the phone, determinedly dialing a number then holding the phone to her ear. When she sees me, she drops the phone and leaps across the room.

"Cynda, thank God! I've been worried sick," she exclaims. "I don't know where Toddy and your father are." She pauses and takes in a deep breath then sighs, "I _just_ woke up, and…I don't know how I slept so long." She brings a hand to her face and presses the bridge of her nose with two fingers in an attempt to keep from crying. "Your father won't answer his phone. I've called him several times and he won't pick up. And then you weren't in your room... I don't know what's going on, but I have a bad feeling."

My stepmother worriedly plays with her wedding ring. "I'm sorry, Cynda. Perhaps I'm overreacting, but I woke up – I woke up at four, I have never slept all through the day, even when I was pregnant with Todd! Well, no one was around, except for Vincent. The house was totally dark and empty. I went to look for Jeff and Todd, but they weren't anywhere to be found…"

She continues to ramble and the guilt I feel is overwhelming. She said Dad is missing; I can only imagine what happened to him. I doubt he just happened to leave the house without informing Susan. Vincent probably helped with his disappearance.

Before I can stop her, Susan throws her arms around me, and I go rigid. She's so warm. The heat from her skin is radiating off and almost burning me, but it's a pleasant feeling. Slowly I bring my arms up and return the hug, trying the cling to Susan's warmth. Beginning to cry, my stepmother rests her head on my shoulder; I hear a new sound, one that takes over my entire being. Her heartbeat is fast and rhythmic, pumping hot blood throughout her body, mesmerizing me.

Today Susan's hair is plaited in a messy braid. Except for a few stray hairs, her neck is completely exposed. She's so close to me. I happen to glance up at Vincent. He's looking out the window, unconcerned about the possible massacre that might happen very soon. Shuddering, I break the embrace and walk away from Susan. She wipes her eyes and looks at me; I feel awkward under her probing gaze.

"Cynda," she says, "You're so pale; you look like death. Where is yo…" She never finishes her question. Vincent has come up behind her and has placed his white hands on her shoulders. Surprised, she jerks.

"Susie," he says, using my dad's nickname for her, "you worry too much. Jeff and Todd probably went out on a walk while you were sleeping." Susan's eyes close and her body becomes more relaxed. She's falling under Vincent's spell. Two of his long fingers playfully twirl a strand of her loose hair. "Everything will be fine," Vincent murmurs, his other hand snaking across her pregnant belly.

Susan leans back against Vincent, allowing him more access to her body. I stand still, mortified at what I'm seeing. From the short amount of time I've known Susan, I learned enough about her to know that she would_ never _act this way. Vincent is somehow causing this behavior; he's seducing her, bewitching her, and it's working.

Lazily, Vincent releases her hair from its ponytail, and her glossy locks cascade over her shoulders. He brushes the hair on her left side behind her ear. "Cynda and I will keep you company until Jeff and your son return," Vincent whispers, his mouth dangerously close to her neck. Susan lets out a deep exhale.

"Jeff," she says suddenly as if remembering something important. She looks warily up at Vincent then shakes her head, as if she's trying to recall something. "I need to call Jeff." She breaks free from his embrace and returns to the forgotten phone. Sadly, I watch her dial my dad's phone number, knowing that she will probably never hear his voice again.

Vincent is standing next to me. He casually wraps his arm around my shoulder and pulls me closer to him. With his other hand he tips my chin up so I'm looking at him. "Your father is dead," he says quietly. His grip turns to iron as I try to move away from him. "But there is good news: I left you your stepmother. Remember how you used to complain about her?" He smirks comically. He glances at Susan, who is still caught up with the phone. She acts as if nothing is wrong, as if Vincent hadn't just held her in an amorous embrace. I don't know how, but she's probably already forgotten.

"What were you doing to her just then?" I spit.

Vincent shrugs. "Killing is only half the fun, dear Cynda," he says, and his once again eyes travel over to Susan.

"Leave her alone," I hiss and duck under his arm and walk toward the window. The last rays of the sun streak across the sky, coloring the lingering clouds an almost red color. It will be completely nightfall in half an hour. I turn around to look at Susan, who is still frantically trying to reach my dad.

"Perhaps," she says, "Cynda, you should go out and look for your dad. His car is still here, so he can't have gone far." She looks at me pleadingly. I eagerly nod my head, trying to appease her. The corner of her lips lift in a small smile.

Vincent quickly objects, "The sun hasn't set yet; they will be back soon. Sending Cynda out in the cold is completely unnecessary. Why don't you relax while Cynda makes you a cup of tea?"

I almost feel Susan's warring emotions. On the one hand she feels like she's dramatizing the situation, but on the other she feels, quite rightly, that something is wrong. I give a weak smile, hoping she might receive some comfort from it. Her shoulders drop in defeat. "I'll go sit on the couch," she says. "Cynda, do you mind making some tea?"

I shake my head, and she leaves; her footsteps echo in the throughout the house as she walks down the hall to the living room. On the other side of the kitchen, Vincent turns on the sink to fill the teapot he has in his hand with water. Before turning on the stove, I walk over to the pantry and grab a teabag. Then I perch myself on the counter and fling the teabag at an empty cup near the range. Gracefully, Vincent places the full teapot on top of the warming burner.

I lean over and rest my head in my hands. Along with Toddy and Will, I now envision Dad's mutilated and bloated corpse floating near the rocks by the cliffs. I want to cry but I just can't. I should have known that Vincent never planned to let my family live. I've sold my soul to the devil for absolutely no reason. It was all just farce on his part.

Vincent's voice interrupts my thoughts. "You should view killing Susan as merciful. Think of the pain she will feel when she finds both her husband and son are dead?" His lips curl into a sneer. "Just imagine her warm blood spreading through you, making you feel drunk and more alive than you felt when you were actually living. She means nothing to you. When the time comes, kill her," he says bluntly, as if killing one's stepmother is a normal day occurrence.

He is standing directly in front of me, only inches away. He leans forward and places an arm on top of the counter right next to my leg. His frighteningly perfect face is twisted in a sadistic expression, as usual. I brazenly stare into his eyes, willing for him to feel my hate. Vincent chuckles.

"So hostile, little mouse," Vincent says. Next to us, the teapot begins to emit steam, along with a high-pitched whistle. I lift my hand to take it off the burner, but Vincent's hand shoots out from his side and grabs my arm, preventing me from doing so. He quickly closes the distance between the two of us and softly kisses my neck.

His actions confuse me at first but then I hear footsteps coming down the hall. Susan is in the hallway, and she's walking towards us. Right before she enters the doorway, Vincent's lips crash onto my own. It dawns on me that he must be doing this for shock value, but I try not to let him succeed. I attempt to move away, but I don't have much room to move to. It's too late, anyways.

Susan has entered the room; the bewildered expression on her face only lasts a moment before she jumps into action. As fast as her pregnant body allows, Susan runs over to the two of us and pries Vincent away from me. "_Get out!_" she shouts at him, pointing her finger accusingly. She spins around and grabs a steak knife from out of the drawer. "Pack your things and leave Underhill. Tonight!" she yells, her face red and lively.

Vincent, who I know must be enjoying her show of courage, is portraying the guilty culprit quite convincingly. His cheeks flush with the faintest bit of color and he looks embarrassed. Susan shakes her knife and Vincent exits the room without looking back at us.

Now I see what the point of all that was: He's left me all alone with Susan, who flings her arms around me. "Jesus. Did he hurt you? Is this why you're so quiet and distant lately?! Talk to me, Cynda!"

I say nothing. Her heart is fluttering quickly in her ribcage, faster than before. I can feel her pulse against my skin; I can smell the blood coursing through her veins. I remember Vincent's words and I feel lightheaded. It's just too much.

"I'm going to call 911," Susan states. She tries to move away from me, but I grab her quickly, encircling her in an awkward hug. She misinterprets my action and tries to calm me. "It's ok, Cynda. I won't let him hurt you, but you need to let go of me so I can call the police. I'll be across the room, and it will only take a second, ok?"

She pats my back, but I don't let go, no matter how much I want to. The animalistic feeling I felt last night has returned. Hunger is racking my body, demanding to be satisfied. "Don't leave," I whisper. Susan doesn't try to move again. She continues to hug me, patting my shoulders and promising everything will be ok.

This time, tears spring to my eyes. I know that if I don't let her go, I will kill her; but I can't force myself to release her. I don't want to. I've hated this woman since the day my father left my mother, but I realize now I was, once again, being petty and childish. She's been nothing but gracious and motherly since I arrived at Underhill. God, I wish I had listened to her advice and stayed away from Vincent.

But there's no point now reminiscing on the past. New and strange feelings have taken over me, and I just want to feel complete bliss again, like I did last night.

My head falls to her shoulder, allowing myself to get a better look at her jugular. It's right there, tempting me, calling to me. With every beat of her heart, everything else seems to fade. I forget about Dad, Will, Toddy, and even Vincent. It's just me and Susan, all alone in the world.

In the corner of my eye, I see the steak knife she set down on the counter. It's right next to me. Carefully, so not to alarm her too soon, I grab the knife and situate it in my hand behind my back. Susan looks at me, curious about my sudden movements, and I take the opportunity to strike.

Like a mad animal, I swing my arm through the air and swipe at her neck. The knife finds its target. A long thick, jagged line of crimson smears Susan's neck. Her eyes are wide with absolute horror as she brings her hands to her throat. She ungracefully drops to the floor, and I kneel down next to her, collecting her convulsing body in arms. I kiss her forehead then her neck. Delicious blood meets my lips; I greedily drink the liquid pouring from the wound.

She must sense that death is quickly approaching. She keeps repeating my father's name. "Jeff…Jeff," she calls, but no one answers. She's dying alone with just her murderer for company. Something inside me tells me it's wrong, but I don't pay attention. I feel so _good_ right now. Her blood is more intoxicating than any alcoholic drink I've ever had; I'm going through a high I've only felt once before, when I killed poor Toddy. I can't stop. _I won't stop_.

Slowly, Susan fades. Her blood is all over the floor and all over my clothes. She stopped moving minutes ago. Finally I feel her heart falter and stop. I watch her eyes close for the last time.

As if coming out of a heavy stupor, I exam my surroundings with wide eyes. The kitchen looks like a scene straight from a horror movie. Susan's corpse is pale and covered in blood. The murder weapon is a few feet away from her, forgotten once the first drop of blood left Susan. I've created a grizzly sight. A week ago I would have probably fainted if I came across a similar scene, now it hardly fazes me, which upsets me.

My clothes are damp and heavy. I frown and wipe the blood off my face with the sleeve of my shirt. Then it dawns on me. I didn't just kill Susan -- I killed her baby, too. I've killed both of her children. The high I felt quickly vanishes and reality crashes down on me. I brutally, cold heartedly _murdered_ my own stepmother. Even if it had been my father, I would have killed him. It's like what Vincent said last night, I have absolutely _no_ control.

I pick up the teapot, still full of water, and hurl it across the room. It hits the counters then clatters to the ground, and water spills out onto the tiled floor, mixing with the cooling blood. I shriek a high pitched scream. Death is preferable to living as the monster I am.

I can't look at Susan anymore; I can't bear to be near her body. I flee from the kitchen and run to my room. The furniture, the rug, all my possessions, everything looks different. I don't feel right in a room that once belonged to an innocent teenage girl. It's a life I can never return to.

Ebony, my dad's black cat, looks up at me from his perch on the bed. He quickly stands and stretches then leaves the room, hurriedly running past me. He knows that I'm no good.

"There's really no point in all this melancholy." My hands clench angrily into fists. Of course Vincent has come to revel in the victory of his plan. I'm half surprised he wasn't around to watch Susan's life slowly bleed away. "I'm quite impressed, Cynda. I almost expected you to offer her some tea and send her off to bed."

"You know that I wouldn't, that I couldn't." I twist my body so that I can look at him.

"It's your nature." Vincent crosses his arms and gives me a daring look, attempting to entice me to act. I don't fall for his games. I sit on the bed and examine my dirty clothes.

"You smell like death," Vincent says cheekily. "Very alluring." He walks over to the bed and sits down next to me. "Listen to me, Cynda. The world is your playground now. You and I will have fun."

I don't listen to him; his words are empty. I reflect on the look in Susan's eyes right after I slit her throat. She couldn't believe it. And when she died, her eyes held the same expression. I wonder if everyone is startled by their own death. Was Toddy?

"Cynda," I hear Vincent say, "I do believe the weather is perfect for a walk. Shall we?"


	8. Chapter 8

Howdy! Reviews really do keep my going, and one certain in particular review inspired me to continue writing. But they're all really, really special to me so please let me know what you think! There's a possibility I might bump the rating up to M next chapter, but I'm not quite sure. What do you guys think?

Super huge thanks to BeachVampire17, nighthunter09, DisneyPirate, MaryLise, and CarolineVampgirl15 for reviewing. You guys are _not_ the reason I cry myself to sleep every night. :D

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When I don't move, Vincent glowers. "I promise you'll like the little surprise I have for you," he says. I shake my head, hoping he'll see that I don't care.

"I lied." Vincent suddenly says, his dark eyes smiling. "Your father isn't dead. He's quite alive, actually."

His words hang heavy in the air, exaggerating the silence of the house. Susan's slit neck flashes through my mind and the momentary feeling of relief I had vanishes. "He's….he's alive?" I ask. Vincent shrugs his shoulders.

"Why did you tell me he was dead?" Perhaps I should be angry, but at the moment I'm slightly _less anxious_ to know that Vincent didn't kill Dad, at least not yet. Perhaps there is hope. Perhaps my death and even poor Toddy's and Susan's deaths occurred to save Dad's life. _Dad's alive_, I tell myself.

"Why would I kill him? He has much to fulfill yet." My tormentor flashes his teeth in something reminiscent of a smile, but it is not very friendly, to say the least. "Don't pout, Cynda. You'll break my heart," he adds, his face contorted with mock sympathy.

"But…but Susan said he was gone, has been gone all day," I say, attempting to gain some comprehension. "And he didn't answer his phone. Have you hurt him? Is he in the house?" I slouch, weary of Vincent's games. I feel terribly lost.

"Shall we take a walk?" Vincent roughly grips my arm and hoists me up, but he doesn't release me once I'm standing. He drapes an arm around my shoulders, constricting my movements, subtly reinforcing his dominance.

He quickly leads me through the house and to the back door, and we walk outside. The night air is cold and tinged with the salty smell of the sea. Together, we tramp through the snow, and it becomes quite apparent where we are headed. A dark feeling of depression wells deep in the pit of my stomach and I choke back a sob. We're heading to the last place I would ever want to go.

After a rather brisk walk, a lone building looms on the horizon. In the pale moonlight, Will's shack has taken on a blue hue. It looks as if it is saddened by the violence that has occurred within its walls. Slowly, Vincent opens up the door with one hand.

"You see, sweet Cynda, we need your father. His part is very important." Vincent steps into the little shack, and I soon follow. The open door allows for a little light to enter the dark room, but I don't need it. My vision has adjusted to the darkness, and it is more clear and precise than ever before. However, my eyes did not find Dad first. His smell permeates throughout the shack, easily allowing me to locate him.

He is on the ground, presumably unconscious. Vincent is next to him before I am. He stoops down to examine the sleeping mass.

"See how fragile he is?" Vincent whispers. He rolls my father onto his back; Dad's face stares blankly up at the ceiling. "He's an old man, Cynda, much older than Susan."

"Are we going to take him back to Underhill?" Seeing Dad alive, albeit unconscious and within Vincent's grasp, calms me. At least he's alive. At least I've been able to save someone from the monster.

A dark chuckle slices through the blackness. "Of course, little mouse. Do you think I would leave him hear to freeze to death?" Vincent tuts as if he were admonishing a little child. "Not to worry, we shall take him home and he will be very warm."

"But what about Susan?"

"You mean Susan's maimed corpse? I'll take care of it."

His words are meant to hurt; they do. I stare at a very smug Vincent, who is still hovering over my dad. Something is wrong, very wrong. He must have something planned, I can't think of why he would just _let_ my father live. Along with dawning comprehension comes a crushing dread. I glance at my sleeping father and say, "You're going to kill him, aren't you?"

"Yes." Vincent stands and faces me. "He will die tonight."

A guttural sound escapes my lips. "You said Toddy, _everyone_ would be safe from you," I growl, allowing anger and hatred to take over me.

"They were never in any threat of being harmed by me. You, on the other hand…" He stops mid-sentence, allowing the implication to sink in.

I won't even respond. I walk out of the shack and into the night, hoping to draw Vincent away from Dad, who I pray will wake up soon. I stand outside, waiting, until a figure appears. Vincent has Dad slung over his shoulder. He looks at me then vanishes. I'm left standing, my mind blankly looking for an explanation about what just happened, where Vincent took off to.

I immediately head to the cliffs, automatically thinking Vincent would kill my dad then dispose of the body into the sea. When I arrive, no one is there. The place is completely vacant. Panic rises.

I curse myself. Vincent wasn't lying—he _had _headed back to Underhill. I hurriedly turn away from the jagged cliffs and run home.

Underhill is dark.

I silently open the front door, careful to be silent. I walk to the living room. Nothing. There's no sound in the house at all. It's totally quiet.

Not surprisingly, I'm nervous, scared... No, I'm terrified. Around every corner and every shadow, I imagine Vincent is there, waiting to pounce. Horrible images run through my mind, each with Vincent doing awful things.

I slink through the hallway, my back pressed against the wall. Suddenly, there is a blaze of orange coming from my dad's study. My heart races; I feel panicked. I can feel the heat of….

_Fire_. The study is on fire! I race to the little room. I stop dead in my tracks.

Oh it's a horrible sight! I trip over myself trying to get away from the blaze. I feel the heat coming down the hall, teasing my fear, my terror.

I race through the house, running as fast as I can. Upon reaching the door, I jerk it open and propel myself outside. I trip again and land in the snow. Sitting on the ground, I look up at Underhill. Smoke is starting to come out of one of the windows and the orange haze is spreading to more rooms.

I think about going back in the house; I can't. The memory of what was in the study is too frightening. Dad was sitting in his chair, next to the desk. The curtains were engulfed in flames, quickly catching everything else on fire. Horror, panic, and true fear like I've never felt before engulfed my sensing, completely making me forget about Vincent.

I collapse into the snow, and my entire backside becomes wet and cold; but it doesn't bother me. I want to go back into the house, perhaps there's still time to save Dad…but I can't. Nothing, not even the love for my dad, could make me stand up and run back into the burning building. I don't know why, but the fire is too much. I can't face it.

I stare at the stars, imagining Susan's and Dad's souls escaping Underhill and flying to heaven. At least they'll be with Todd--the thought doesn't comfort me. Tears cloud my vision and roll down my cheeks. I try not to think, because thinking only leads to dark thoughts.

The snow crunches next to me, alerting me of Vincent's approach. He slowly walks towards me and stops, no smile or smirk on his face. Instead of arrogance or confidence, his flawless features are warped by a new emotion, like he's disturbed.

"Stand up," he hisses, no merriment in his voice. "We're leaving." Without waiting for me to react, he reaches down and yanks me to my feet. With his hand wrapped around my forearm, he drags me to his car.

Underhill is completely emblazed now; the roof is totally engulfed, sending bright flames up into the night sky. A loud crash comes from the house and a nearby window explodes, blasting fire, heat and glass outward, making both me and Vincent duck. Vincent looks back at me, his eyes bright with fear.

Moving quickly, he opens the driver side door and throws me in. I have to crawl over the gearshift to get to the passenger seat. I'm barely sitting before Vincent is in the car and turning on the ignition. He jerks the car into reverse and slams on the accelerator. Seconds later, he abruptly stops the car.

We're a safe distant from Underhill and the fire but I can still hear the crackle and hiss. We watch it burn for several minutes, not speaking or looking at each other. Soon, the roof collapses. I lean forward, hardly believing what has happened to Underhill.

"Why?" I croak. Vincent runs a hand through his dark hair and straightens his back. He looks dead ahead at the destruction that he has caused. Light from the fire dances and illuminates his features, giving him a devilish look.

He's obviously rattled. He doesn't answer me. For what feels like an eternity, he just looks at the blaze, not saying a word and hardly moving. I also stare at what was once my home. Tears well in my eyes again and fall straight down my face. Both Dad and Susan's corpses must be completely burnt by now. I don't want to think about that, but I just can't stop myself from doing so.

Around two in the morning, Vincent turns the key in the ignition, bringing the car to life again. The house is still ablaze, but it's mostly destroyed by now. It looks nothing like the beautiful Underhill it once was. Instead, it's decimated building with two bodies inside.

Vincent shifts the Porsche into first gear and we slowly leave the property. I turn around to look at the remains of the building until it is out of sight. The car slightly jerks as it's shifted into fifth and we take off down the road. We drive through the small town, then the next town, and then the town after that. Vincent speeds through the countryside, hurriedly trying to approach some place I don't know. I focus my attention out the window, my mind on things far away.

"The fire was to delay the authorities." Vincent cocks his head slightly in my direction and looks at me through the corners of his eyes. "It will give us the opportunity we need to disappear."

I look at him, trying to understand what is going on through his head. I have no idea what he means, eluding the authorities has never been a concern of mine before.

"Couldn't you…. Couldn't you?" The question remains unfinished. I can't bring myself to ask why Dad had to die, why he couldn't have let him live.

"The memory will fade, Cynda," Vincent says almost sincerely. He pauses then says, "Thirty years from now, your dad would have been dead anyways. We've just relieved him of those miserable years."

He's returned to his usual self; the monster is back. He's once again laughing at my pain. I don't say anything, the tears falling freely down my cheeks say enough. I lean my head against the seat, my eyes blankly looking at the road.

An hour later, as the dark blue sky starts to turn a light pink, Vincent pulls the car into a little motel off the side of the road. With a flick of the wrist he turns off the car. "This is it, my love. We'll spend the day here," he says as he opens the door and steps out. "Stay here while I check in." With that he slams the door and saunters into the office.

I watch him through the window. A middle aged woman is working at the desk. She smiles, bats her eyelashes, and flicks her dyed blonde hair at him, obviously trying to flirt. Vincent rises to the occasion and leans forward, drawing her closer to him. He plays with her for several minutes, then turns away and walks out the door, a smug smile plastered on his lips.

Vincent opens the door and says, "Come along, little pet."


End file.
